


what you do to me

by vaudelin



Series: supernatural codas [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Dean's Cave, Episode Related, Episode: s13e16 Scoobynatural, M/M, Movie Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: It wasn’t until Dean tilted his head back, meaning to whisper something to Cas, that it even clicked for him how close they were sitting.Close. Like that’s what it’s called when you’ve bunkered down in your buddy’s lap.Close.





	what you do to me

The water ran hard as he was filling the sink for dishes, the soap refusing to lather no matter how hard he forced it, so Dean wrapped up the post-supper clean-up with a sigh, gathered his keys, and called down the bunker hallway that he’d be out for about an hour to grab softener salts before the store closed. Not the longest of milk runs, granted, though it was apparently sufficient enough time for Sam and Dean’s supposed best friend, _Judas_ , to commandeer Dean’s man cave as their own.

Though their current 42-inch television was by no means as impressive as their haunted pawn shop find, it was clearly preferable to the dinky laptop Dean was used to watching on. Preferable enough even to lure Sam away from his own said dinky screen, drawing him into the room he had once deemed ‘ridiculous’ when Dean first revealed it to him.

Oh, how that tune had changed, because there was Sam now, slouching back in one of the dual recliners, an open beer hanging between his propped up legs, sullying Dean’s sacred space with his dull high brow. Sam was focused solely on the screen, some Netflix original he could’ve watched in his own damn room, except no, of course, he wouldn’t do that. Life couldn’t be that fair.

And there on the remaining recliner was Cas, the traitor, nursing a beer of his own, his attention flickering to Dean only long enough for Cas to place him before returning his focus to the nature documentary on display.

Dean crossed his arms. He refrained from tapping his foot, but only just. “What do you think you’re doing.”

It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t directed specifically at either guilty party, meaning the two of them shared equally bemused looks, their contorting expressions washed blue by the television screen. The exchange resulted in equally disinterested shrugs.

Sam looked at Dean like he’d damaged his head. “We’re watching a show.”

Oh. They were gonna play at being idiots. Okay. Fine.

Dean steeled himself. He gritted out, as patiently as he could manage, “Why are you watching it _here_.”

Again, those unsure looks. Cas sat forward this time. “This room has the largest television.”

Dean puckered his mouth. He glared at Cas. “You’re in my seat.”

Cas frowned. “It’s only a chair.”

“ _My_ damn chair,” Dean spat back, jabbing his finger. Cas damn well knew it was too; Dean always sat there while they were burning their way through whatever series had ensnared Cas that week. It was a _routine_ of theirs by now. Cas should know better.

But the lines on Cas’ brow smoothed away, leaving a frustratingly placid expression behind. “Your name isn’t written on it,” Cas replied simply, and settled back more firmly into the recliner.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. They never— _never_ —should have let Cas catch onto sarcasm. It only spelled trouble for them.

With a barely-stifled growl, Dean stormed across the room, crossing between the couch and the TV for the annoyed noise it earned him from Sam. He banged the door to the fridge and slammed a beer down on the bar, making a show of snapping the cap off against the counter and downing his first sip. He then rounded on Cas’ end of the recliner and removed his empty from the cup holder with nary an exaggerated gesture.

With Cas finally frowning up at Dean again, his full attention on him, Dean gave a smirking smile. He then spun in a half-circle and dropped like a rock onto Cas’ lap.

Dean’s first thought was that, for somebody walking around like a shapeless bag bundled in a trench coat, Cas sure felt _firm_ in half a dozen places. He grunted as Dean squirmed in place, partly doing his best to annoy Cas with rogue and roving elbows, partly trying to find a position that was genuinely comfortable in this too-small chair. Cas, for his part, huffed and struggled against him, freeing his arms from Dean’s wrath with only minor cursing, the shoulder-check he gave Dean hardly one that would leave a bruise.

Cas settled his palms upon the armrests to either side of the chair, the tips of his fingers tapping against Dean’s sweating beer. Dean dug his shoulder back in retaliation, right into the stuffing beside Cas’ ear. He kicked at Cas’ feet until he could cross his legs on the outstretched ottoman as well.

Satisfied, Dean crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, waiting for Cas to lose patience with him.

Except, after a dozen species’ narrations in three separate biomes, Cas never did.

Dean kept his frown to himself, knowing that to glance back at Cas would only give the game away. But he wondered what the hell the guy was thinking, playing so smooth at what Dean surely knew was his annoyance. Cas could be so damn implacable sometimes, but surely the guy had his own limits.

So Dean continued to make a performance out of each time he grabbed his beer, his entire body blocking out Cas’ line of vision a handful of times; he waved his arms and burped loudly whenever the occasion called for it, and dropped his dead soldier to the concrete with a clang. But the only ire Dean earned at all came from Sam, who coughed loudly and shot Dean pointed looks each time readjustment creaking came from his half of the chair. Dean fired back with glares of his own but otherwise settled back, silent, rummaging his hips around in an effort to find his comfort zone again.

It wasn’t until Dean tilted his head back, meaning to whisper something to Cas, that it even clicked for him how close they were sitting.

Close. Like that’s what it’s called when you’ve bunkered down in your buddy’s lap.

 _Close_.

Cas could run his thumb down the outer seam of Dean’s jeans if he wanted it to. All he’d have to do is curve his hand and Dean would be there, warm and ready and willing.

Dean flinched back from the thought, unsettling in his seat hard enough that Cas wrapped a steadying arm around Dean to keep him from tipping over, which made the situation impossibly worse. When Dean struggled out from his grip, Cas lifted his chin, fixing Dean with a puzzled frown, and that—that was far enough, now.

This game of chicken was over.

Dean shot out from their seat— _theirs_ , damnit, him and _Cas’_ —like a damn rocket, all but firing himself halfway across the room before he realized he’d gone the wrong way from the door, cornering himself beside the jukebox rather than scurrying out the room with his tail between his legs. Dean covered his hasty retreat as best he could, rounding it deftly into a trip back to the bar. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, then a second one, just to be sure, popping the caps on both of them just to be safe.

 _What had_ —

Dean swallowed. He set the first bottle between his lips, tipped it, and swallowed again.

 _What was—? They were_ —

Yeah, they’d always been close. And yeah, Dean did like the guy. But that… They’d never really talked about it—and Dean, he didn’t even ask before doing it.

 _But Cas... Cas had seemed like he_ —

He made it seem like it might’ve been okay.

A voice reached out to him from the shadows. “Dean?”

Dean nearly dropped his beer. He turned to find Cas sitting upright, a leg planted to either side of the ottoman, watching Dean with a pinched expression on his face.

Dean’s first instinct was to glance beyond Cas, to his brother, but Sam was carrying out an Oscar-worthy performance of a petrified body, and was for all intents and purposes staring at something a billion miles away. Cas, however, followed Dean’s line of sight, leaving Dean to wince when Cas tied two and two together with a visibly heavy sigh.

Cas then turned away from Dean with a final, morose look, and damnit, that did it. Dean retrieved a third beer, popped open the bottle, and set himself on his way.

“Refills?” Dean asked, waving the fresh soldiers toward the couch like two white flags.

Sam took the beer with a mild thanks, while Dean took initiative and stuck Cas’ in the cup holder where it belonged. He kept hold of his own as he sat, more gingerly this time, atop Cas’ lap.

Cas might have been made from stone for how much he moved while Dean settled in, leaving Dean to jitter, hyper-aware now that he was paying attention to just how much they were touching. Dean crossed his ankles and leaned back on one shoulder, same as before, except now Cas’ arms hung rigidly off the chair’s sides, as far away from Dean as he could manage without turning himself into some sort of tree.

Dean tried to play like it was nothing, but he knew Cas was ruffled yet. Dean needed to know, needed to see, how all they were reacting. He glanced at Sam, who seemed wholly unconcerned with the two of them, and then at Cas, who was feigning unconcern but was very much watching Dean from the corner of his eye.

Cas caught Dean looking and chanced a glance up at him. His chin caught against Dean’s shoulder, his stubble rasping, and suddenly Dean couldn’t breathe.

Cas lifted his brows in a silent question.

Dean shrugged, awkward, unable to answer. Another sigh traveled through Cas beneath him—Cas sinking back, retreating—so Dean fished Cas’ arm up from the abyss beside the couch, took his hand, and tucked Cas’ arm back around his waist.

There. If nothing else, that had to mean something. Cas had to know not just anyone was allowed so deeply within Dean’s space.

Cas froze, unmoving, until Dean threaded their fingers together, at which point Cas returned his grip. A softer breath escaped him, sinking Dean more fully against him. Cas crooked his arm and pulled Dean more firmly against him.

Dean kept glancing at Sam, just to be sure, but really, he didn’t need to. The documentary droned on and the beers kept flowing. Everything already felt like it was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/172504092358/what-you-do-to-me).


End file.
